Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 192 - - Should I call him daddy？

In the evening, after Olive woke up, Cynthia still made her a soft, pale yellow omelette. The mother and daughter shared a meal, and after some playful teasing, Cynthia finally cuddled with Olive under the covers, softly talking about how they would live with Albert in the future.

She gently caressed Olive's smooth little bottom and said,

"Mommy will be very busy with work, and I won't have time to cook for you or take care of you, Olive. So for now, you'll stay at Uncle's house. But I will visit you after work in the evenings and on weekends, okay?"

Olive blinked her big eyes and thought for a long time before nodding vigorously. Then, in a sweet voice, she asked,

"Mommy, Uncle told me to call him Daddy. Should I call him that?"

Cynthia's chest tightened, and she hoarsely asked,

"Do you want to call him that, Olive?"

Olive snuggled closer to her, pouting and playing with her chubby little fingers.

"I don't know, Mommy... But, but I saw that Arven and Bruno both have dads. The kids at kindergarten all have dads too. I want a daddy too!"

Cynthia was momentarily at a loss for words, taken aback by her child's innocent comment. Olive continued,

"Arven and Bruno said that a dad is someone who really loves Mommy, someone who had us kids with Mommy..."

"Well..."

Cynthia admitted that bruno and arven's explanation was indeed very clear because that was the kind of model they saw in their parents. But when it came to her and Albert, it seemed a bit different.

Olive eagerly climbed on top of her, cupping Cynthia's face with both hands, asking,

"Mommy, does that mean I was born from you and Uncle?"

"Yes!"

Cynthia, sticking to her principle of never lying to a child, reluctantly admitted the truth.

Olive immediately clapped her hands and laughed,

"Yay, then I can call Uncle Daddy! Hee-hee!"

Cynthia was somewhat speechless. Children are so simple and innocent. Olive, too excited, began to roll around on the bed. Why was she suddenly so happy? The moment she knew she could call Uncle Daddy, it was as if her heart was as joyful as after eating the omelette!

Cynthia didn't stop her from calling him that. Since Olive had already accepted it in her heart, she couldn't really intervene. No matter what, Olive was part of the Wilson family, and she had no right to interfere too much.

The next afternoon, Bruno and Arven, following the orders of their respective parents, came to pick up Olive to take her out for some fun. The parents had decided that the evening would be for adults only, so the older two were elevated to the role of babysitters, responsible for looking after all the little ones in the Wilson family.

Cynthia, still dressed entirely in black, knew that it was for the gathering. She had spent a long time in front of her wardrobe, but found it full of only black and gray clothes. She remembered what he had once said about how unflattering these colors were on her. Standing there, she gave a self-deprecating smile, the corners of her lips curling up.

Who was it that said women with wounds in their hearts often gravitate toward black? It's as though it shields the world from seeing the hurt inside. Maybe that's exactly how she felt now.

Originally, Bonnie had said she would come to pick her up, but after calling Bonnie for a long time with no answer, she didn't know what she was busy with. As the time grew closer, she decided to take a taxi herself to Hotel. After all, with just her name, no driver would be unfamiliar with it.

As she walked downstairs, she suddenly spotted his car parked there, unsure for how long. When he saw her coming down, the horn blared, and at the same time, the window slowly rolled down. He smiled at her from inside the car.

"Shall we go together?"

Today, he was unusually dressed in black, almost as if it were to match the somber tone of her attire. With his black clothes, black hair, and black eyes, his strong, defined features made him seem extraordinary. The dazzling tie beneath his shirt also caught Cynthia's attention.

Cynthia found herself staring at the violet tie around his neck, suddenly at a loss for words. It was somewhat worn, and the color alone gave it away. That was the tie she had given him on their second wedding anniversary.

Memories flooded back from the depths of her mind. When she thought back to their time together, most of it was filled with sweet recollections, except for the final year.

She never imagined that, all these years later, he would still keep that tie, even wearing it to such a formal occasion. Was it because, as the rumors said, he didn't care much about appearances? Or was there something more to it, something he was silently remembering or hinting at?

Seeing her stand there, seemingly lost in thought, with her expression fluctuating between sadness and joy, Albert couldn't help but get out of the car and approach her with a concerned look.

"Cynthia, what's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"

As his tall figure drew closer, the purple color of his tie seemed to stab at her eyes, intensifying the ache. She had distanced herself from that color for many years. Quinn, who also favored black, would never have worn such a vibrant purple. Now, facing the deep violet, Cynthia could only feel her eyes stinging and swelling, as if something were filling up her eyelids.

She awkwardly lowered her gaze and softly said, "I'm fine..."

He stood there without saying a word, his gaze fixed on her, never straying. She continued blinking hard, desperately trying to hold back the tears, feeling his eyes on her, unwavering and intense, as if they were burning through her very being.

Just as she thought she might be consumed by his stare, his voice came, low and rough, carrying a tinge of hurt,

"Is it really that hard... to see me?"

His words hit her like a heavy hammer, striking her chest with a painful thud. She felt her body shudder and the moisture she had just pushed down rise to the surface again. She couldn't understand why she felt so emotional today—suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, even to the point of tears.

She took a soft breath and murmured,

"If we don't leave now, we'll be late."

Then, she quickly lowered her head and hurried toward his car.

Behind her, Albert stood frozen, his brows furrowed deeply as he watched her rush into the car. A wave of desolation swept over him, nearly overwhelming him.

How loathsome must he be, that just seeing him could make her feel this way?

It was Friday, the time when everyone was getting off work, and the traffic was incredibly heavy. Albert could see her sitting there, clearly agitated, her delicate brows furrowed, her small face pressed against the car window, eyes fixed on the bustling world outside, refusing to look back at him.

He, on the other hand, was enjoying this rare moment of solitude with her—just the two of them, no Olive, no one else. Quietly, they drifted along the river of cars, the night's traffic flowing by.

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The car came to a stop at a red light, and looking up, he saw the glowing lights of the hotel not far ahead. Cynthia, however, had a grim expression, pulling her coat tighter around herself. She opened the car door, clearly wanting to get out. The atmosphere in the car felt too suffocating, especially with that song playing—it made her feel as though she were about to scream.

"Cynthia—"

His voice called out, thick with pain, and he tightly grabbed her arm. His grip was firm, and she could even feel his fingers trembling slightly.

She didn't turn around. Her side profile was both beautiful and forlorn, and her voice was calm yet indifferent.

"Sorry, Mr. Wilson. The traffic is really bad. I want to get out and walk."

With that, she wrenched his hand away and stepped out of the car without a second glance. Her black silhouette swayed like a delicate flower in the neon-lit streets, gradually disappearing into the crowd.

Albert's hand fell limply to his side, and his face clouded with anguish at her dismissive departure. He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, and a long, sharp honk echoed through the air, prompting nearby drivers to roll down their windows and shout insults.

The anger inside him burned, yet there was nowhere to release it. In frustration, he cranked the car's music to the loudest volume, letting the gut-wrenching sound of the song pierce his eardrums. Then, he slammed the gas pedal and drove toward Shengshi Hotel.

On the way, he saw her again, tall and graceful, even in the dimly lit crowd. Despite the darkness, he recognized her at once.

She had her hands in her pockets, her small head tucked into her coat as she walked with her head lowered. The surrounding noise seemed to have no effect on her, but the lecherous gazes from the men nearby turned back to stare at her as she passed, their faces filled with envy before they eventually left.